


Cold Feet

by sassyjumper



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Angst and Humor, Civil Unions, M/M, Romance, formal wear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:29:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassyjumper/pseuds/sassyjumper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House abandons Wilson at the civil union altar.  Temporarily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Feet

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a Sick Wilson challenge on LJ.

 

 

 

Wilson watched his mother dab the corners of her eyes with a hanky, clearly trying not to smudge her makeup. She had witnessed her son exchange vows on several occasions. But she’d never seen him stood up at the altar.

_She must be so embarrassed,_ Wilson thought, not yet fully registering how he was feeling. Fourth and final marriage, he’d assumed. He’d never imagined House would be the first one to leave before the “I do.”

“I—I guess we should…” Wilson trailed off as he looked at the modest group assembled in his parents’ backyard. Most of them—aunts, uncles, cousins, Sandy and a few others from his staff—were gazing at him with a mix of pity and disbelief.

Wilson’s eyes fell on House’s current and former fellows, all sitting more or less together. Foreman was shaking his head, while Taub and Thirteen looked…unsurprised. Adams just shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

Chase was standing next to Wilson. As it turned out, Chase was an ordained minister (through some sort of online process Wilson didn’t quite understand), and he’d offered to officiate the ceremony. Wilson had accepted with no qualms, since he’d wanted no actual government official or clergy member to stand as a target for House.

Park was the lucky one. House had a case, and she’d volunteered to be the one on duty that day.

“She’s a homophobe,” House had snarked when Park apologized to Wilson for having to bow out.

_So what’s your excuse?_ Wilson was now asking House in his head.

Wilson didn’t realize how long he’d been silent until his father stood up from his seat in the first row of folding chairs. “Well,” his father said, turning to the guests. “We do have plenty of food. Let’s not have it go to waste.”

As people began to rise and awkwardly decide on whether to leave or lunch, Wilson removed the boutonniere from his black suit jacket.

He silently handed it to Chase, then tried to keep his head up as he made his way into his parents’ house.

 

*******

 

Once inside, Wilson pulled out his phone again. Nothing. He plopped down at the kitchen table.

After House had failed to show or pick up his phone, Wilson had called Park, who confirmed that House was not at the hospital.

That had set Wilson’s mind on the worst possibility: The death machine House used for transportation had finally done him in.

Wilson had been on the verge of panic—controlled, internal panic—when he and Chase slipped into the house and started making calls to the local hospitals. When that turned up nothing, Wilson had been left with an odd mix of relief that House was likely alive and a strong desire to kill him.

“No one’s seen a tall asshole with a cane,” he’d told Chase as he hung up with his last call. Chase had wisely said nothing.

And now here he was—sitting in his parents’ kitchen, looking at his iPhone like it was a lifeline. House would call any minute. And there would be a terrible, inadequate excuse. And Wilson would forgive him.

 

*******

 

“Well, it’s not like this is shocking.”

Wilson looked up from his station at the table to see his mother. He hadn’t even heard her come in. She stood by the door, in her tasteful cream-colored suit and pumps, her silvery-gray hair freshly styled from a visit to the salon that morning. Her large brown eyes looked sad as she regarded him.

Sad, but not sympathetic.

“James?” his mother prompted.

Wilson sighed. “What do you want me to say? And what do you mean anyway, not _shocking?_ ”

“Do I need to explain?” his mother said, keeping her position by the door. “Greg is not…He’s not conventional.”

Wilson laughed. “And getting gay-married is?”

“James,” his mother chastised. “Don’t call it that.”

Wilson just shook his head. His parents had, eventually, accepted that their son was in love with a man. But they somehow couldn’t say the words, or even hear the words. And they certainly couldn’t hear the word _gay._

His mother sighed heavily. “I was trying to be diplomatic. What I meant was, Greg is not normal.”

Wilson looked at his mom, and how she didn’t dare move any closer to him. How she gazed at him with something in between pity and bewilderment. He felt himself smile faintly.

“No,” he agreed. “He’s not normal.”

 

*******

 

The last of the guests had long since gone, but as much as Wilson didn’t want to be around his parents, he didn’t want to leave either. Mostly because he didn’t know where to go.

So as dusk fell he sat in the yard by himself. By himself except for the few bottles of wine laid out on the table before him. In his peripheral vision, Wilson could see first his mother, then his father looking at him through the kitchen window.

So he decided to drink some wine directly from the bottle. _That’ll show ‘em,_ he thought wryly.

Exactly what he was trying to show his parents, he wasn’t sure. Maybe nothing. Maybe he just wanted them to stay away.

“I don’t know,” Wilson found himself whispering.

He didn’t know why House simply hadn’t shown.

He was supposed to be the House-management expert. Everyone knew that. He was supposed to look into his crystal ball, or read his fucking tea leaves, and predict House’s every move. Anticipate his every need.

But he had no clue why House hadn’t shown up to the most important day of their lives. Wilson didn’t care if that was a cliché; it was the most important.

To him, at least. He had to admit that everyone else seemed vaguely interested at best.

His older brother had sent his regrets, saying the family couldn’t make the drive from Connecticut that day. Wilson’s nephew had an important soccer game.

House had refused to even invite his mother, on the grounds that she’d bring “that idiot she’s boinking.” And against every natural instinct, Wilson had not gone behind House’s back to call Blythe. He’d figured that if he and House were getting married—or civil unioned, as New Jersey preferred—then he should at least let the ceremony be deception-free.

And now, apparently, the joke was on him. “Well, fuck me,” he said, taking a swig from the wine bottle.

“If you insist.”

Wilson whipped his head around at the sound of House’s voice.

And there he was, standing by the back door, partly in the light from the kitchen window. House met his eyes briefly, then looked down as he bounced his cane lightly on the patio concrete.

_He’s wearing his suit,_ was all Wilson could think.

House looked up again and hooked his thumb toward the kitchen window. “It’ll be kinda kinky, though, with your parents watching.” The sarcasm was only half-hearted, though.

Wilson opened his mouth, but couldn’t make a sound. He wanted to scream, to yell, to cry, to punch House, to kiss him. And it all left him paralyzed.

House sighed and started to move toward him, and Wilson suddenly found his voice.

“What are you _doing?_ ”

House stopped in his tracks. “I’m here for our what’s-it-called. Unholy matrimony?”

Wilson tried to give him a warning look, but he wasn’t sure it was having the intended effects—what with the wine making his vision unfocused and the lighting being provided by Citronella torches. He wanted to get up and storm away, but he knew his legs would be wobbly. If he were to stumble or stagger, he didn’t think he could stand House laughing at him.

House remained still.

“No,” Wilson said finally. “You’re about five hours too late for that.”

“I…” House started to speak, but seemed to change his mind. Then he furrowed his brow. “Are you sure? I’m pretty sure you told me 8 p.m.”

“Don’t.” Wilson was a little surprised at how rough his voice sounded. “Don’t make this a joke.”

House looked down, but started inching his way toward Wilson again. And Wilson felt an almost desperate need to make him stop.

“But you know,” he said in a rush, “I wouldn’t actually be surprised if you did get the time wrong. You have never shown the slightest interest in this.”

House stopped his advance. “You mean _this?_ ” he said, eyes darting around the yard. “No. I was never interested in standing up in front of a bunch of people who either don’t like us or don’t like what we’re doing.”

Wilson sat up straighter. “I didn’t ask you to do anything but show up.”

“Repeatedly,” House said, starting to shed his veil of contriteness. “You marked it on my calendar, put it in my iPhone, in my i _Everything._ The sticky notes on my cane were a nice touch.”

“And yet,” Wilson cut in.

“And yet,” House echoed, “I didn’t show. I did exactly what you expected.”

Wilson’s head was suddenly spinning. Too much wine, he thought dimly before dropping his head into his hands. “What?” he muttered, not sure he had the energy for the answer.

From the corner of his eye Wilson could see House’s hand settle on the chair next to him. House paused before pulling it away from the table and sitting down.

“I said, I did exactly what you apparently expected,” he repeated, but softer this time.

Wilson looked up, and his breath caught just a little at the sight of House so close to him now. Meeting House’s eyes, he steadied his focus.

“I never expected you to leave me standing there like a…like the idiot everyone thinks I am.”

Wilson let his head fall into his hands again. It was beginning to hurt too much.

“They don’t think you’re an idiot,” House said, voice still soft. “They think you’re a martyr. They think you’re a do-gooder who can’t help but care for the needy…OK, and maybe _kind_ of an idiot. But mostly the other stuff.”

Wilson didn’t trust himself to look up. So he just slowly shook his head as it lay in his hands. “Why did you do this to me, House?”

There was only silence in response. So Wilson looked up before he spoke again. “Did you think it would be funny?”

House’s eyes widened slightly. “No. I…No.”

“Did you think it would be funny to let me plan all of this, deal with my parents, get you a suit, and then not show?” Wilson knew his voice was becoming slightly hysterical.

“No,” House said, more firmly this time.

“Then why?”

“I,” House hesitated and tapped his fingers on the table. “I guess I got cold feet.”

Wilson laughed sharply, not quite believing his ears.

“House, when we got the license, you grabbed my ass in front of half of Princeton’s civil servants. You told everyone at the hospital—the janitors, even—that you’re finally making an honest woman of me. You might hate suits and ceremonies, but you haven’t been acting worried about what comes after.”

House looked at his fingers on the table, then back at Wilson. “But I am.”

Wilson felt his stomach do a slow flip-flop. He wasn’t expecting House to say anything so direct. Or so unnerving. “What? Why?”

House shrugged. “It could be a huge mistake. A big fucking disaster. That’s all.”

“You…It just occurred to you _today_ that this could all be a huge mistake?”

“Well, not just today. But it was today that I actually put the suit on, and looked in the mirror, and…cold feet.”

But Wilson couldn’t quite buy that. He shook his head. “No, no, no. What happened?”

House just looked at him with exaggerated confusion.

“Something happened,” Wilson said firmly.

House sighed. “Did you know there’s a betting pool at the hospital on how long it’ll take till you divorce me, or whatever gay New Jerseyans call it?”

“Yeah. I assumed you started it.”

He hadn’t really, but he wasn’t sure why House would care about idiots betting. And the pool had started a couple months ago, when House had popped his head into a department-heads meeting to announce that Wilson’s ass was officially off the market. Why would it suddenly bother House now?

“They think you feel obligated to take care of me, you know,” House went on.

Wilson shook his head again. “Since when do you care what people at the hospital think about anything? Literally, anything.”

“I don’t.”

Wilson opened his mouth, but he wasn’t sure what to say. Which was fine, because House was talking again.

“I don’t care. But I got to thinking…”

“Oh god,” Wilson dropped his chin to his chest.

“ _And,_ ” House said, ignoring him, “I think you do feel obligated. You have always been so afraid I’ll end up alone. I think you just want to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah,” Wilson said, exasperated. “I don’t want you to end up alone. I want you to be with me. Hence, the civil freaking union.”

“And you’ll have state-sanctioned authority to nag me, make sure I eat three square meals, come home at a reasonable hour—”

“House,” Wilson cut him off. “What? You think I want to marry you for the nagging rights?”

“And the joint banking account.”

Wilson sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “House, be serious. Please.”

House was silent for a moment, before clearing his throat and looking away, past Wilson and toward the altar where they were supposed to have stood a few hours before. Wilson had gotten one of those wedding arches and decorated it with some roses. He braced himself for the mocking that was sure to come.

But House just kept looking at it. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “I don’t know why you want to marry me.”

Wilson found himself at a loss. How could House not know? But his head hurt, and he couldn’t think of what to say.

House looked at him, and then down at his own hands again. “You could have anybody you want. It’s…it’s only a matter of time before you get tired of me.”

So that was it. Wilson felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

“You think I’ll cheat on you,” he said, not as a question.

House blinked. “No,” he replied slowly. “Just that you’ll get tired of me.”

Wilson angled on his chair to face House. “OK,” he said, “first of all, I can’t have anybody I want. And even if I could, wouldn’t that mean I was choosing you above everyone else?”

House sighed. “Nothing beats your need for martyrdom.”

“Stop saying that!” Wilson almost growled in frustration. He wanted to get up, but he was feeling unsteady even in his chair.

“What about me?” he asked House. “You think I can have anyone? Well, I know you can’t. Do you know anyone else who would voluntarily spend an entire day with you? Maybe you want to marry me because you think I’m your only choice.”

It was only when he heard the words out loud that Wilson realized he really did, at some level, wonder if they were true.

He fell silent as he absorbed that thought, his gaze moving back to the wine bottles.

Then House surprised him by grabbing his chin. “You,” he said, making Wilson look at him, “are the only person I’ll spend a day with because you’re the only one I find interesting enough, you moron.”

Wilson removed House’s hand so he could speak. “And you’re the only person I’ve stuck with because you’re the only one I find interesting enough. You ass.”

They looked at each other for a moment before Wilson tried again.

“House, did something happen? Besides the betting pool.”

House shook his head, then gave a short laugh. “It’s stupid.”

Wilson was slightly startled at the rare display of embarrassment.

“What?” he prodded.

House sighed. “Yesterday in the clinic. I was trying to catch a nap in an exam room, and I heard a conversation outside the door. It sounded like that tall brunette on your staff talking to her friend what’s-her-name from radiology.”

“Hernandez and Keating?”

“Yeah, sure. Anyway, they were having a casual chat about how you could do so much better… _He’s so nice,_ ” House said in falsetto. “ _Oh my god, I know._ ”

“Uh, they’re not 14-year-olds on Tumblr,” Wilson objected.

“That was the gist,” House insisted.

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck. “Again, I don’t see how that’s different from anything—”

“It’s not,” House cut him off. “Except this time I believed it.”

Wilson just stared at him. House looked back, and this time did not turn away. “House,” Wilson said weakly. “Who cares what they say? _I_ don’t believe I can do better.”

“I know,” House replied. He hesitated before adding, “And I think you’re wrong. I think you’re settling.”

Wilson sat back in his chair. “You cannot be serious.”

When House said nothing, Wilson started to feel the anger boil up, from wherever he’d been pushing it. “If you want to cut and run,” he said, “do it. But don’t put it on me.”

House screwed up his face. “I’m not putting it on you.”

“Right,” Wilson scoffed. “You’re just letting me off the hook so I can pursue a better life.”

House let his chin fall to his chest and said nothing.

“You’re trying to talk yourself out of happiness. Again,” Wilson accused. “You’re afraid of it, or of losing it, or…god knows what. So you want to end it before it’s taken away.”

“Gee,” House said. “I was hoping we’d get to the psychoanalysis.”

“Well, if you weren’t deranged, we could skip it.”

The pain in Wilson’s head suddenly got sharper. He put a hand over his eyes. This wasn’t what he wanted. He’d wanted a simple ceremony, simple vows, a simple lunch.

He’d wanted the idiot who was sitting next to him, right now.

Wilson took a deep breath. “I’ve been with you most of my adult life, House,” he said, hearing his voice quaver a bit. “I don’t…”

“Don’t what?” House said quietly.

Wilson shook his head. “I don’t want anything else.”

There was silence as House held him with that _look._ But Wilson was determined to look right back at him.

The stare-down lasted only a few seconds before a hint of a smile graced House’s face. “Seriously?” he said.

Wilson couldn’t stop a laugh from escaping. “I know. It seems so…insane.”

House just nodded, but his smile got a bit wider.

Wilson furrowed his brow. “How could you not know that?”

House sat up straighter. “Well, it’s not like you’ve ever said that. Or anything close to it.”

Wilson opened his mouth to argue, but realized he really couldn’t argue. “Well,” he said, “we don’t _say_ things to each other, House.”

The words sounded more than a little pathetic to Wilson as he uttered them. But it was the truth.

House shrugged. “Except when I got down on my knee and asked you to civilly unite with me.”

“Uh, is that a euphemism, or something? Because that never happened.”

House wrinkled his brow. “It didn’t? How did it go down? If you know what I mean,” he added, with an arch of his eyebrows.

Wilson rolled his eyes. “We were sitting on the couch. You asked me if they still made Cool Ranch Doritos, because you used to really love those. I said yes, and that I’d pick some up for you. Then you said we should get married.”

House looked off into the distance before saying, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Wilson replied. “And then, just to recap, I accepted your proposal. I—I didn’t think you needed me to say anything else.”

“I don’t,” House brushed him off. “Actually the less you say, the better. Your mouth has way more enjoyable uses.”

Wilson sighed. “House, I’m sorry if—”

“Can we not?” House said impatiently. “Really. I’m sorry I brought up the whole ‘saying things’ thing. You were busy dealing with your parents, sending out invitations, getting the gayest flowers possible—”

“And acting like I didn’t trust you to show,” Wilson said, feeling a bit guilty. “I just wanted everything to be perfect. Or not perfect… just nice.”

“Yeah, nice sounds like us.”

Wilson laughed softly. It felt good. It was only about a half-hour ago that he couldn’t imagine laughing. House did that to him. Made him furious, then made him laugh. Made him actually admit to feeling things.

“I love you,” Wilson said quickly.

House looked at him, a bit surprised, before regrouping and offering a mock shudder. “That’s a low blow,” he said, “You’re really trying to guilt me into trying this ceremony thing again, aren’t you?”

“I’ve been drinking,” Wilson defended, feeling a tug at the corners of his mouth. “I can’t be held responsible for anything I say.”

House put a hand on Wilson’s knee. “You’re a menace when you’re plastered,” he said, with a gentle squeeze. “You’re also easy as hell. Better get you home.”

Wilson nodded. He felt like by rights, he should stay angry. He should send House away. Or stumble away himself. But he just didn’t want to.

“OK,” he said.

House stood up and braced himself on his cane before holding out a hand. Wilson took it and slowly rose to his feet. He could see his mother in the kitchen window. He wasn’t sure how long she’d been there, but it didn’t matter. He put his hand on the back of House’s head and pulled him down for a kiss.

It was soft. Not like their usual kisses, which were typically just a prelude to something else. These types of kisses were a bit rare, but Wilson thought that made them sweeter.

When he and House pulled away from each other, Wilson saw that his mother was gone.

House leaned in to whisper in his ear, “I guess that means I’m forgiven?”

“No,” Wilson murmured back. “You still have to marry me.”

“Damn,” House said. Then he moved his lips to Wilson’s other ear. “I’m sorry.”

Wilson just nodded and leaned in a little closer to House’s chest. Not a hug really, because they didn’t do those. He just needed a moment to steady himself.

House put his hand on the small of Wilson’s back. “For now, can we just go home for a good old-fashioned civil union?”

Wilson tilted his head up, and even in the weird lighting he could see the wicked gleam in House’s eyes that he loved so much. “Or maybe not so civil?” Wilson suggested, feeling a little heat in his cheeks.

“Oh, hell yeah,” House said, breaking their embrace and casually slipping his hand into Wilson’s.

As they walked around to the side of the house, Wilson had a sudden idea. “Hey,” he said, stopping and turning to House. “Let’s just get married—civil unioned, whatever—in your conference room. Chase can do it, and the rest of the team can be the witnesses.”

House was silent for a moment. “You sure?” he said slowly. “That doesn’t sound like something you’d do.”

It didn’t, Wilson had to admit. And that’s why it seemed so appealing right now.

“I’m sure,” he said. “I’ll wear my best lab coat. You can wear your most excellent t-shirt. Then we can go to my office and totally make out.”

Wilson was suddenly feeling giddy with the idea. “Or wait, we’ll make out in your office. Glass walls.”

House’s smile was clear even in the moonlight. “That’ll really piss some people off,” he said, sounding suitably impressed.

“Fuck them,” Wilson said, a bit surprised when the sentiment came out so easily.

“Fuck them,” House agreed.

Wilson smiled as he took House’s hand and they began to walk again, unsteadily but together, under the moon.

 

_\--End_


End file.
